


Good Times, Bad Times

by WingsforWinter



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, First Kiss, M/M, Pining Castiel, Pining Dean, Supportive Sam, Witches, alternate season 9, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsforWinter/pseuds/WingsforWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets transformed by a witch's spell. Cas and Sam have to figure out how to change him back before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Times, Bad Times

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from one of my favorite Led Zeppelin songs 
> 
> Part 13 of the [30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge](http://ghiraher.tumblr.com/post/37135733342/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge)
> 
> I skipped ahead! 
> 
> This one is number 20: Magic Spell
> 
> It is roughly *7 TIMES* longer than the previous fics in this series. I couldn't help it. 
> 
> It's set sometime in an alternate Season 9, where Sam recovered without Ezekiel/Gadreel, Cas is human and living in the bunker, and Dean is the same emotionally constipated idiot we all know and love.

 

 

 

Sam burst through the doors of the den. Excitement was rolling off him in waves. Dean paused _The Blues Brothers_ and turned to give the ball of energy that was his giant little brother his undivided attention, jostling Cas in the process. He had started using Dean’s shoulder as a pillow around the time Jake and Elwood took a joyride through the mall, and Dean hoped Sam hadn’t seen, or at least didn’t comment.

 

He’d heard enough snide remarks from him and Kevin since they found Cas, half dead and all human, weeks ago. The former angel was just starting to feel better, and who was Dean to tell him he couldn’t lean on him when he wanted to.

 

Lucky for Dean, Sam’s mind was occupied with a more pressing issue than the debilitating crush he had on the former angel.

 

“Guys, so get this,” Sam began, close to vibrating where he stood, “there’s this town in Washington where people are going missing like crazy, and random animals are showing up left and right.”

 

“What kind of random?”  The gears in Dean’s brain started turning. Animal transformations?

 

“A lion—not a mountain lion, a _lion_ -lion like from Africa, a bunch of dogs, sheep, otters… Like a zoo transport just decided to dump it’s cargo and leave. Some are torn up, but the living animals aren’t afraid of humans, and it’s starting to freak people out. I checked for demon and angel omens and there’s zilch. We might be looking at a pagan god, maybe a hopped up shaman, cursed object, witch—”

 

“I _hate_ witches!” Dean moaned dramatically.

 

Castiel watched both men talk in silence. It was very possible that his brothers and sisters could be involved, even without omens, and he told the Winchesters so. They didn’t seem worried.

 

“When are we leaving?” Castiel asked. He needed a few minutes to pack his things. The boys had bolt-bags already packed for themselves, but Castiel kept using the clothes that were in his so he kept having to repack it.

 

“Cas, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s going to be really cold where we’re going. Dean and I can take care of this while you rest up.” Sam gave Cas a reassuring smile.

 

“I appreciate your concern, Sam, but I would like to join you if neither of you mind?” The end of his sentence came out more like a question than he intended. He didn’t like having to ask permission. The thought of not being there to help the boys if they needed it was one he didn’t want to consider.

 

“Nah, Cas, of course we want you there.” Dean grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. Castiel returned his smile, albeit a smaller one. “Get packin’ and we’ll meet you at the impala in fifteen.”

 

 

When Sam was sure Castiel was out of earshot, he rounded on Dean.

 

“Dude. We need to keep Cas safe.” He chided.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy we can’t keep him locked up here his whole life. He needs a field trip every once in a while. Just because he’s human now doesn’t mean he wasn’t a freaking angel.”

 

“I know, I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to him.”

 

“Dude, you and me both. But mortal or not, Cas is a big boy. We’ll watch his back, and he’ll watch ours. Remember his ‘third wheel’ spiel? ‘Stability and balance,’ or whatever. It’ll be good for him.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

 

 

All that talk worrying about Cas, and Sam should’ve been worrying about Dean.

 

They found the woman easily enough. She was masquerading as a fortune-teller downtown. All of the vics went missing a few days after meeting with her, and they were at a loss to why she failed to cover up her tracks better.

 

Dean had gotten a reading that day, and it was uneventful. She didn’t have as much juice as Pamela or Missouri, if she had any at all. She made vague assumptions based on his appearance and body language, and Dean loosened his hold on the gun pointed at her under the table. If she were truly psychic, she would’ve known what he was there to do. He relayed the info to Sam and Cas, and they decided it would be best to tail her as she left the storefront that night.

 

They made it to a small ranch-style house without incident. They looked on as the woman busied herself around the kitchen and ducked behind the house when she emerged and got back into her car.

 

A quick whispered argument later and Dean was off in the impala, following the woman, while Sam and Cas did a quick B&E.

 

Dean kept a safe distance between Baby and the inconspicuous silver sedan, glad that she didn’t make many turns. She didn’t seem to notice she had a tail. After a stop at a grocery store she headed back to the house. He called Sam’s cell to warn them, but they were already out and headed back to the motel on foot. There was nothing strange about the house. No hidden doors or demonic symbols or creepy ingredients in the fridge. Nothing.

 

Dean wondered if they had gotten the wrong person. It didn’t seem to add up. She made another stop, this time back at the fortune-teller’s shop, and Dean almost kept on driving. He didn’t want to waste time trailing a civilian who picked a dumb way to make a living while more people might be getting turned into animals under their watch.

 

He idled at the curb anyway, far enough down the road that she wouldn’t spot him when she returned, but she didn’t come back out. He waited fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes. Groaning, he hefted his weight out of the car, careful not to slip on the icy road. He was ready to pull his lock picks, but the front door was wide open. He pulled his gun instead.

 

Stepping carefully into the space, he clicked his flashlight, holding it parallel to the revolver. Checking each room carefully before moving on, he had a sinking feeling that he was too late. That whatever was targeting these people might have gone after the phony psychic as well. The cold was biting, even indoors, and he pulled his arms in tighter.

 

The door in the backmost room looked like an exit to the alleyway behind the storefronts, and Dean was actually surprised when it opened to another room.

 

This one had all the components of a witch’s lair, making up for the cleanliness and normality of the rest of the places they checked in spades.

 

It was disgusting. He really, _really_ fucking hated witches.

 

He shone the flashlight around, tensed for a fight, but he didn’t see her anywhere. He was just about to call Sam and Cas for backup when something hard and heavy struck the back of his head. The world turned black.

 

 

He was chained, and he was naked. That much he knew before he even opened his eyes. He was on his back on a concrete floor. Arms raised above his head, legs pulled straight. He couldn’t sit up. The fogginess in his head and the tingly feeling in his extremities spoke of a minor concussion, and the grim realization that he was an expert in self-diagnosing concussions was not lost on him.

 

“I know you're awake. You may as well open those pretty green eyes.” The witch’s voice didn’t sound evil. She sounded like a librarian, or maybe a waitress. All light tone and projected friendliness. Dean opened his eyes. She didn’t really look evil either. Curly brown hair, freckles, glasses. His assessment changed quickly when he saw the knife in her hand.

 

It was big and twisted and ugly. The blade crusted black with dried blood and viscera. She smiled when he tried to squirm away from the edge before drawing it over his forearm. The slice was shallow, but it bled nonetheless. She caught his blood in a wine glass of all things.

 

“So from what I can read, you came here to find out who is playing ‘Splice and Dice’ with the locals. You’re right, you shoulda used that gun when you had the chance.” The light, happy tone in her voice turned sharp for a minute when she voiced the wording of his earlier thoughts, but the smile remained.

 

“Stay out of my fucking head.” Dean’s voice was much scratchier than he wanted it to be. He wondered how long he’d been out.

 

“A few hours.” She answered his unspoken question, and he tried his best to not think of anything, singing _Back in Black_ in his head, badly. The smile faltered a little. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’m doing them a service. Turning them into their Spirit Animal… I only kill some of them.”

 

“Oh, yeah, when you put it that way I totally understand.” He spat, testing the strength of the shackles keeping him on the dirty floor. He stilled when he felt the knife at his throat.

 

“I don’t kill people, Dean. Only animals. I’m not a serial killer if they’re animals when I kill them.” He realized then how truly insane she was. Everyone knew killing and torturing animals was one step on the list of things most psychopaths do before killing humans. Right before.

 

“I stopped it though.” Her crazy smile was back, a little wider than before at reading his thoughts. “I won’t kill people. Not yet anyway. I found a loophole.” She made a twirling motion with the tip of the knife against the skin of his throat.

 

“They're still people, you crazy bitch.”

 

“Not when I’m done with them.” She giggled. “Picked up a spell from an especially helpful demon. I find the animal that they connect with most. That way, when the transformation is complete, their minds slip away. Only beasts after that. You’ll see.”

 

Dean knew all together too much about the skill certain demons had in carving away humanity. In easing the transformation from human to creature so quickly that you barely knew what was happening until it was too late. His heart raced.

 

She raised the cup with his blood in it to her lips and took the tiniest sip, swilling the red liquid in her mouth before swallowing. She placed the glass and the knife on the table and straddled Dean’s hips. He tried to shake her off, but it only made her smile more as she placed her hands on either side of his face.

 

“You’ll be an easy one to figure out, I think.” She crooned, teeth stained red. She closed her eyes and Dean felt a distinct prod at his mind. He tried his best to shut her out, but it was like trying to stop wind blowing through his fingers. “Loyal… vicious… brave… moody… nurturing… fierce… bloodthirsty. You’re already half beast without my influence. Restless. Always on the move. Quite the rambler, aren’t we? Definitely a carnivore… Hmmm…”

 

The vulnerable feeling of being completely naked and trussed up was bad enough. But the violation of his mind was something Dean couldn’t stomach. He’d dealt with too much of it already. Being at the mercy of a woman half his size was maddening. He wished he had told Sam where the hell he was. Stupid, stupid mistake.

 

“You can’t do anything on your own, can you? You fall apart when you're by yourself. Pack mentality. I’ve got it.” She lifter herself up and went back to the table, flipping through what sounded like a book. Dean couldn’t see it from his position on the floor.

 

She bustled about the darkened room, much like he’d seen her do in her house what seemed like forever ago. She actually hummed to herself as she selected ingredients out of jars and vials, like she was stirring up a batch of cookies rather than a spell that would take away everything that made him who he was. He stretched and strained against the cuffs at his ankles and wrists, but they didn’t so much as creak in protest.

 

“This spell won’t take away who you are, Dean. It just makes you a more basic version. All the perks of a volatile personality such as yours, but no human conscience. It’s a thing of beauty. I will revel in watching the light leave your eyes.”

 

He watched as she poured his blood into a bowl that seemed to be on fire, and then the pain hit him.

 

It was true agony. Something he’d only experienced in Hell. Pain so bad it knocked the breath out of him before he could even scream. Alistair could’ve taken notes, because though he’d snapped Dean’s bones, ripped his tendons, shred his skin… He’d done it one thing at a time. This was all happening at once.

 

Dean’s bones popped and crackled, shifting beneath skin that was splitting and peeling off like birch bark in front of his eyes. Muscle and sinew stretched and tore and stretched again, molding into new shapes. His fingernails and toenails were being pushed out of their beds, falling with little tapping sounds to the scummy concrete. He could feel his face starting to shift. Teeth being forced out. Pressure building like balloons behind his eyes. He screamed then, as he spit out a mouthful of blood and molars. He was losing his fucking _eyes_.

 

He wished that Castiel were still an angel, that way he could've heard his silent prayer, his request to take care of Sammy. His goodbye. The pain was too great. In Hell, you healed every day, only to be cut to ribbons again, but this was earth, and there are some things people just don’t come back from. Fire lit him up from within as his guts twisted and pulled like taffy. He wished he would just black out already. The sound of the witch laughing started growing louder and louder, jabbing at his ears until he was sure they were bleeding too. The sound reached a crescendo along with the pain and finally, mercifully, darkness overcame him.

 

 

Over the sound of a woman’s maniacal laughter, Castiel heard a high-pitched keening yelp, like a dog being beaten. He and Sam barreled through the shop that the GPS on Dean’s phone led them to. He had to believe Dean was here, that the woman hadn’t killed him yet.

 

Sam kicked in the last door without breaking his stride, and they had found her. She had her back to them, and spun when the door slammed into the wall, madness in her eyes. They looked beyond, to the pile of bloody flesh twisting and writhing in pain. The inhuman wail that broke from it’s tattered mouth made Castiel’s blood run cold. He dashed past the witch, knocking over the table as he went. She screamed in rage and launched herself at him, but Sam was too quick.

 

He turned his back on them and knelt next to the creature that had to be Dean. He had heard that scream in Hell. He’d known it in a few of his worst dreams since becoming human.

 

The wail stopped when he overturned the table, but the form before him still writhed and shuddered, skin slipping off in chunks. Castiel could see the chains that would’ve held a human prone now empty. The creature before him was entirely red. Whatever the color its fur truly was entirely masked by the sheer amount of blood that coated it.

 

Castiel’s heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest as he took in the pieces of the Righteous Man that were strewn across the floor. He gagged when he saw one lifeless green eye roll across the concrete.

 

“Sam!” He cried out. He was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear the struggle behind him, hear Sam hiss in pain and finally the sound of a gunshot, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of what was left of Dean. He reached out and placed his hand on the massive creature’s heaving flank.

 

 

Sam had just enough time to reach them, gasping in horror, before the enormous wolf’s jaws closed around Castiel’s arm.

 

 

 

A chainsaw snarl ripped from his throat as he bit down, tasting hot blood trickle into his mouth. The thing he bit cried out in pain, and the sound was too loud as it bounced off the walls and reverberated in his ears. Then another of the things was rushing him. It was bigger than him. He let go of the smaller one and snarled again, ears laying flat on his skull, making every hair stand on end. He was afraid, but he would not back down. He would fight as he always had.

 

The larger thing pulled the smaller thing back, and he watched warily as they started making sounds. He met their sounds with a growl, the sound tearing its way up his throat without him having to think about it. He clashed his teeth and wrinkled his nose. They backed away further. The smell of blood was all around him, thick and sweet, and he saw meat littering the ground around him. With one eye trained on the things, he bent his head and began to eat.

 

 

Sam couldn’t help it. He threw up. It was as much out of fear as it was watching the wolf that used to be his brother, _eat_ the pieces that used to be his brother. Castiel was incoherent beside him, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest.

 

“Dean!” Sam called again. “Dean, c’mon man. I know you're in there. Dean, please!” He felt the tears well up in his eyes. What if they needed Dean’s skin to reverse the transformation? The wolf licked at a scrap of what Sam couldn’t help but see as his brother’s ear and turned to fix his golden eyes on them again. For a hopeful second, he thought Dean was hearing them, but the snarl returned as the wolf advanced on them, taking bold, measured steps.

 

Sam grabbed Castiel and hauled him to his feet, sliding along the wall to get further from the beast that didn’t show any signs of still being his brother. It was then he noticed that it— _Dean_ was slinking toward the body of the witch, not them. He looked away, horrified, as the wolf started tearing chunks out of the dead woman, swallowing them whole.

 

Castiel startled him when he took a step toward the bloodthirsty carnivore. He tried to grab for Cas’s uninjured arm, but the former angel shook him off.

 

“Cas, wait!”

 

“Shh.” Came Cas’s reply, though he didn’t turn his gaze from the wolf. “Dean, can you hear me?”

 

 

The smaller thing, the bleeding thing, was walking toward his kill. The warning growl he gave it should have worked, but it didn’t. The thing kept coming. He lifted his head from the meat and snarled again. Making his feeling clear. He was giving the bitten thing a chance to get away, but he would not suffer it to come nearer to him. He snapped his jaws, licking the blood from his fangs.

 

 

“Dean, I know you're still in there somewhere. You’ve got to fight. Don’t let the animal win.”

 

The wolf’s growl got louder the closer he got, but he didn’t stop. Dean would come back. He had to come back.

 

“Dean, it’s ok. I know you're frightened. Sam and I will not harm you.”

 

He was so close now he could feel the wolf’s hot breath on his outstretched hand. He didn’t have time to pull away before its fangs sunk into his flesh again. The bite wasn’t as hard as last time, and he didn’t try to pull away.

 

“Dean, come back.” He pulled in a ragged breath. “We need you.” He felt his chest tighten as he remembered the words that broke Naomi’s mind control. “I need you.” He placed his other hand on the wolf’s massive head, and suddenly the jaws clenched around his arm were gone. The wolf had sprung back, a high-pitched whine escaping its mouth. Castiel could see the whites around its eyes.

 

 

Flashes of memories flitted across his brain. Black wings on the ceiling of a barn. Watching a man get on a bus after exchanging harsh words. His best friend beating him senseless in a dusty crypt. Carrying a baby out of a burning house, not sure that his legs would make it. Laughing his way down an alley after being booted from a cathouse. Running and fighting and bleeding in a land of monsters, looking for an angel. His brother jumping into a hole, lost forever. His brother Sam. Sammy. The angel that put him back together so many times he’s lost count. Castiel.

 

He had bitten Cas. He had swallowed his blood and wanted more. He had swallowed…

 

He retched the contents of his stomach out onto the filthy floor. Gagging and heaving even after the last bits had resurfaced. His legs were stiff underneath him. Everything felt wrong. He was on his hands and feet, only he wasn’t. The witch. He spun around, trying to see himself, but all he could make out was red. All other colors seemed muted. Washed out. He looked at Sam and Castiel. Sam was ripping a strip from Castiel’s shirt to bandage his bloody arm. His fault.

 

 

Relief washed over Castiel as he saw that Dean was back. It made him lightheaded, or maybe it was the blood loss that did that. Dean was walking toward them like he didn’t know how to work his legs, though he seemed just fine on them a second ago. He saw Dean’s golden eyes widen when Sam noticed him approaching and shrank back. Dean whimpered. He lowered himself to the ground and crawled toward them, lowering his head onto his paws when he got close enough to touch.

 

“It’s ok, Dean.” Castiel breathed, reaching out his good hand to touch the blood soaked and sticky fur on the wolf’s head. The wolf’s long pink tongue lapped the back of his hand once, and then he turned to Sam.

 

“Hey Dean. Glad you're back.” He said shakily, reaching out to ruffle the fur between the wolf’s pointed ears. “We gotta get Cas back to the room to patch him up, ok?”

 

The wolf’s head hung lower than before. He turned, carefully skirting the dead woman and the puddle of vomit, and headed out the door. Sam and Cas scrambled to follow.

 

 

They couldn’t get Dean into the impala. He refused to touch it, and huffed annoyance when they asked him why.

 

He barked once, touched the impala’s door with his nose, and shook his head. Sam figured it out.

 

“No dogs in the impala. Got it. But you're not a dog, Dean. You're a huge ass wolf, and you're covered in blood and someone is bound to notice you if you trot all the way back to the motel, now get in the damn car before Cas bleeds to death.”

 

He didn’t resist after that.

 

They got back to the motel in minutes, and Sam threw Dean in the tub with the shower on, helping him wash as much of the gore out of his fur as he could. The water ran a deep red at first, but after a few minutes and both bottles of motel shampoo, it ran clear. Dean snapped at him and looked pointedly to the door, where Cas was watching. Torn arm held to his chest.

 

“Oh, right. Sorry Cas.” Sam looked sheepish as he set about cleaning Castiel’s arm.

 

“It’s alright, I would have done the same thing.” He hissed as Sam poured antiseptic over the puncture wounds. They were a lot better than they had thought. The worst was a two-inch gash on Cas’s inner forearm. The others didn’t really need stitches.

 

Dean hopped out of the tub and shook, sending water droplets flying everywhere and earning a first class bitchface from Sam, who was now dripping down his back. They took the operation back into the room so Sam could rest Castiel’s arm on the table as he stitched up the wound.

 

Dean nipped at the back of Sam’s arm when the needle didn’t go exactly where he wanted it. If he could talk, he’d be berating Sam for being so sloppy with his sutures. Cas was gonna have one hell of a Frankenstein scar when his baby brother was done with him.

 

 After another sharp nip, Sam snapped. “How about next time you don’t bite him, and then I won’t have to sew him up!”

 

Castiel watched as Dean flinched back, ears and tail down. He reached out his good arm and rested it on the wolf’s damp head, rubbing the downy hair behind his ears. Dean came closer and rested his heavy head on Cas’s leg as Sam finished, wiping down the cuts with iodine before bandaging the arm.

 

Dean’s mouth was watering, and it took him a minute to realize it was from the smell of the bloody cloth that had been wrapped around his friend’s arm. He flinched back like he’d been burned and when Sam reached a hand out, he snapped at it involuntarily, teeth clipping shut centimeters from his brother’s outstretched hand. He whined an apology and wedged himself between one of the beds and the wall. Cas and Sam exchanged worried glances.

 

Sam rose to his feet and grabbed the keys to the impala, sighing. “We need more gauze and some food before we all go into shock. Cas, I don’t know if you wanna stay here with Dean like this,” Dean let loose another whine, “But I don’t know if you should move around too much with your arm like that. You need to keep it raised until the bleeding stops.”

 

“Thank you Sam. I think I’ll stay here. I trust Dean.” Blue eyes met gold, and Dean felt two inches tall. He just mauled the guy, twice, and here he goes saying he trusts him. He was up and scratching at the door before they had time to react.

 

“Dean I’m not bringing you with.” Sam growled.

 

Dean harrumphed and shook his head. He scratched the door again.

 

“You're not gonna take off, are you?” Sam asked, trying to read the wolf for intent before he dared open the door.

 

Dean shook his head again, sharper this time. His impatience was triggering something in him. Something he didn’t like.

 

“Ok, ok. I’m trusting you too.” He said before twisting the knob.

 

 

Dean ran out into the darkness that to Dean’s new eyes wasn’t all that dark. He could hear Sam shouting behind him, and he probably shouldn’t have booked it out of the room full force, but it felt so good to run. He made it to the tree line in seconds, and after marking his territory, searched the ground. He found what he was looking for, lifted it in his mouth, and ran back to the room just as he was caught in the beam of Sam’s flashlight.

 

Sam looked downright puzzled. “You wanna play fetch?” He asked incredulously as Dean trotted up with the heavy branch. Dean dropped it at his feet and shook his head, a low exasperated growl rumbling from his throat. Cas appeared behind Sam and looked on.

 

 

Dean didn’t trust himself, even if the others did. He felt the blankness inside of him now, seeming to manifest itself whenever he got too excited. It reminded him of how he felt in purgatory. The pure simplicity, kill or be killed. Letting your body usurp your mind until you reacted on unadulterated instinct. He would try his best to make sure it didn’t happen again, but his best didn’t always cut it. He couldn’t stand to think of hurting Cas again.

 

He prodded the branch with his nose and then pressed his muzzle into Cas’s hand before backing off a pace and snarling like he had in the witch’s fucked up transformation room. Understanding dawned in those blue eyes. Dean knew Cas wouldn’t threaten him with a gun or knife, and Dean wasn’t sure he’d even recognize those weapons if he lost himself, but a club was another thing entirely.

 

“Dean, I’m not going to need this.” Cas spoke like it was the utmost truth, but retrieved the long chunk of wood regardless. Sam seemed to relax after that, and left without another word. Dean watched him go before turning to Cas.

 

“Are you ready to come back inside, Dean?”

 

 

 

Dean realizes he’s pacing, but can’t seem to stop. The nervous, impatient energy is back the moment the door shuts behind him. He feels almost claustrophobic. A low, constant growl escapes him like a purr. He needs to be doing something, going somewhere. He should be patrolling his territory like always, saving the things that need saving and hunting the monsters who dare to threaten his pack.

 

His pack was small, he knew, but it was strong. He wondered when the bigger two-legs would return. He had the vague idea that it was bringing food. He was jogged out of his thoughts by the smaller two-legs.

 

“Dean?” The voice was unsure, and the questioning tone brought Dean back.

 

Shit. He didn’t even notice slipping away. He sat hard by the bed Cas was occupying, cross-legged and watching him. The makeshift club lay abandoned on the ground. He couldn’t keep in the pitiful whine that bubbled up his throat.

 

Cas patted the bed beside him, looking expectantly at Dean, and Dean didn’t think about refusing. The floor was hard and the only reason he hadn’t claimed a bed was the fact that he was ginormous and covered in hair. He wouldn’t want something like him in his bed if he were human. The mattress rocked wildly as Dean hopped up, actually bouncing Cas into the air a couple inches. Dean let out a wolfy laugh, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as Cas righted himself, shooting a small, disapproving glare at him.

 

He curled up next to Cas and rested his head on his paws. He felt Cas’s hand ghosting along the fur on his back, as if asking permission, and Dean leaned into the touch. Being stuck in this body made him utterly unaware at how touchy-feely he was becoming. This body communicated through touch and body language just as much as the limited sounds he could make. He was thankful for Castiel’s trust and forgiveness, even if he didn’t deserve it.

 

 

At first, Castiel pet Dean’s now-dry fur with the grain in long, slow strokes, trying to calm his friend. He’d seen Dean start to slip. The change in body language was unmistakable now that he knew the difference.

 

Dean’s fur was predominantly cream colored, with rust, grey and gold guard hairs starting at the bridge of his nose and running down his back. His coat was thick and surprisingly soft, and Castiel found when he started running his fingers against the grain that the undercoat was even softer. Dean panted happily when Castiel scratched behind his ears like he’d done at the table, and earned another lick on the back of his hand when he scratched the wolf under his chin.

 

“Dean?” The wolf turned his head and fixed him with a questioning golden gaze. “Are you still all there inside? How is your noodle?” He didn’t want to upset his friend, but it was painfully clear to Castiel that Dean, the real Dean, would not have allowed this type of touching, and he didn’t even want to think about the human equivalent to a lick from the giant wolf in his lap. As much as he loved being close to Dean, it was frightening how different he was becoming. And so _quickly_.

 

Dean seemed to think for several long minutes, and then gave what Castiel could only guess as the wolf equivalent of a shrug. Dean pawed at the blanket beneath him, head down. He didn’t know if he was all there or not.

 

Castiel knew that heart-to-hearts with the Winchesters were usually reserved for life or death situations, but this seemed a fitting time as any considering Dean couldn’t hold up a hand and tell him ‘No chick flick moments.’

 

“Dean, you’ve got to stay with us. We’ll figure this out, like we always do. You told me that, remember? I can’t lose you. I need you too, you know? You and Sam are the only family I have now. If I’m not allowed to give up, you’re not either.”

 

Dean had quirked an ear at him when he started talking, still looking dejectedly at the ugly comforter, But he moved forward after hearing what Cas had to say. The human part of his brain didn’t know how to react other than to laugh it off and say ‘Of course, idiot, I’m not gonna give up that easily’ but he couldn’t, so his wolf brain filled in the gaps. He rubbed his muzzle and the side of his face against Castiel’s, a wolfy equivalent to a hug, a gesture he meant to say, ‘I hear you.’

 

Castiel only frowned deeper when he pulled away.

 

 

Sam came back a little later, grocery bags on one arm and what smelled like burgers in the other. Dean’s stomach growled loudly, earning a laugh from his brother.

 

Sam set the bags down on the table and rifled through them, taking out everything. Among the gauze and antibacterial wipes and Neosporin was a large uncooked beef roast wrapped in brown paper. Dean jumped off the bed to investigate.

 

“I wasn’t sure, you know… So I got you a burger—just meat and bread, I don’t want to mess up your stomach with anything else. I should have checked what wolves were allowed to eat before I went… Anyways I got you a burger and this.” He unwrapped the roast and the burger and set them both on paper plates on the floor.

 

Dean pointedly ignored the roast and started snapping up the sandwich. It was delicious, but Dean couldn’t taste it as much as he could when he was human. He guessed it was a good thing wolves couldn’t taste as much, considering they sometimes ate carrion. He hadn’t really been hungry, but now that he had started eating, it was like he couldn’t get enough. His new body was made to go long periods without food, but also to stuff itself when food was available. In his frenzy to finish the burger, he saw a hand snake down to remove the roast, and to his own horror, he snarled and snapped at it, angling his body to protect what was his.

 

Sam snatched his hand back, looking startled and hurt, but Dean couldn’t stop to try and apologize. He finished the last of the burger and moved on to the raw beef.

 

“He didn’t mean it Sam.” Castiel still sat on the bed, watching stoically at the scene unfolding before him. “Wolves are very protective of their food. They have highly organized social structures that dictate the order in which—”

 

“But he’s not a wolf, Cas, he’s my brother!” Sam nearly shouted. He had been so calm since they found Dean that Castiel had thought he was taking it in stride.

 

“Unfortunately he seems to be both.” The former angel stated unhappily. “More Dean when he is calm, but more wolf-like when agitated.”

 

“Or hungry.” Sam shot a look at the massive pile of fur, already halfway through the chunk of meat.

 

“I think we got to the room just in time. None of the other animals were disproportionate or showed overly human characteristics. If we had not gotten there when we did, I assume he would’ve been no different.” Castiel continued.

 

“What do you mean by disproportionate?” Sam asked, glancing at his brother.

 

“Normal wolves are 85 to 120 pounds. Your brother would be on par with the biggest wolves ever recorded. He seems to be his original weight. I’m not sure if this was intentional, or as a result of stopping the spell before its completion.”

 

“That might work to our advantage if we have to take him out with us. Tell people he’s a hybrid or one of those circus freak giant animals or something. How do you know so much about wolves?” Sam asked, passing Castiel a burger.

 

“I like them.” The dark haired man shrugged before taking a bite of the sandwich.

 

“Wolves and bees. You're so weird.” Sam joked.

 

Castiel shrugged again, allowing himself to smile.

 

The smile faded a little when Dean finished chewing the meat off the bone, and started in on the bone, crunching through it with apparent ease to get to the marrow inside. Sam visibly paled.

 

 

Sam seemed to get more nervous as the night went on and they were getting ready to sleep. Dean could sense the tension, and it had him pacing again. Cas watched the both of them, brow furrowed.

 

“Sam, are you ok?” Castiel finally asked, when reaching out to pet Dean didn’t seem to calm him. He could see Dean glancing at his brother every few minutes, and he guessed the connection between the wolf’s restless motion and the hard set of Sam’s shoulders. Dean yipped in agreement and stopped pacing to stare at his brother.

 

Sam huffed a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I feel bad, but I just don’t know if I can sleep with you like this.” He looked pointedly at Dean. Dean visibly deflated. “It’s not your fault or anything,” Dean gave a sharp bark—‘Yes it is’—but Sam continued, “What if you fall asleep and forget who you are again? I just don’t really feel safe. I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel saw matching looks of sorrow on the man and wolf. “Maybe we could get you another room?” He suggested to Sam. He knew he would stay with Dean, regardless of where Sam spent the night. The last thing Dean needed right now was to be alone with his thoughts. Castiel didn't need his grace to tell that Dean was blaming himself for everything. Dean whined and couldn’t have looked more like a kicked puppy if he tried. Maybe he was, Castiel thought wryly.

 

Dean’s ears went up suddenly. He trotted to the bathroom and yipped. It was small and cramped, as was the par for most motel bathrooms, but there was space enough to lie down, and the door opened inward, so there was little chance of him escaping on his own. He really didn’t want to be alone, but this way he knew exactly where Sam and Cas were, even if he couldn’t see them.

 

Sam seemed to understand, and most of the tension dissolved. Dean trotted over and nuzzled his face into Sam’s chest, growling contentedly when Sam rubbed behind his ears. Sam looked at Cas, slightly alarmed, but Cas just smiled and shrugged. They should enjoy cuddly Dean while they could.

 

 

Cas gave up his blanket and one of his pillows and made a bed on the floor of the bathroom, and Sam gave him a quick pat on the head before turning off the light and closing the door behind him. Any thoughts that it would be hard for him to fall asleep were dispelled as soon as he lay down. He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

 

 

He woke with a start, the previous day’s events swirling in his mind. He knew where and what he was, so it seemed Sam’s fears could be put to rest. The thought made him happy. He didn’t want to scare his brother. Hopefully they would find the damn cure or reversal or whatever and he’d be back walking and talking before lunch. It was a tall order, but one could hope.

 

He tried to listen at the door, to see if they were awake yet. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but there was a weak grey light bleeding around the cracks in the doorframe, so it must be early morning at least. He scratched gently at the door, not wanting them to think he was trying to escape. He listened at the door again, but there was no sound that he could make out. He scratched more persistently the next time. Still nothing.

 

He tried to calm himself down. He knew that the anxiety and claustrophobia bubbling up inside of him could trigger a relapse. He let out a soft bark. There was no way the motel allowed dogs, and he’d made so much noise yesterday he half expected them to be kicked out. When nothing happened, the anxiety started to grow again. Did they get up early and leave him locked in here? What if they came to get him earlier and he tried to attack them and didn’t remember?

 

He was alone. He didn’t like being alone. Where was his pack? He wanted out. He wanted OUT. He WANTED OUT. He sat back and raised his muzzle to the sky, calling for his family.

 

 

“AWOOOoooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOO…” The howl had Cas tumbling out of bed. He ran to the bathroom and threw open the door, forgetting to be afraid until the wolf inside jumped at him, massive paws landing on his shoulders. He grunted under the weight but didn’t fall. His eyes widened in fear when the wolf’s open mouth took up his entire view. He didn’t have the time to shout for Sam before a wet pink tongue caught him from chin to hairline.

 

Dean yipped happily at him, tail wagging like a dog, before jumping down to rest his front paws on the ground again, and then he was off. Dean ripped around the room like it was his own personal obstacle course, racing full speed around the beds, through the tiny sitting area, leaping gracefully over the table and then he was running back, jumping first on Sam’s bed, with Sam still in it, and then onto Castiel’s.

 

Dean barked again, play bowing to Castiel, still standing in shock in front of the bathroom. Castiel took a tentative step at Dean, and that triggered Dean to start his drag race again, this time grabbing Sam’s blanket as he went. Sam jumped up and stood on the mattress as he watched Dean knock over nearly everything in the room with either his enormous body or the trailing blanket.

 

“What the hell is going on?!” He shouted as Dean jumped from his bed to Castiel’s again, blanket still in his mouth.

 

“I think he wants to play?” Came Castiel’s confused reply, complete with head tilt. Dean barked again, a booming sound in the small room, and Castiel nodded. “Definitely wants to play.”

 

“Well that’s great and all Dean but we have to get back to Lady Frankenstein’s storefront before anyone goes poking around and finds that room.”

 

“It’s not yet 5am, Sam. Might we take him for a walk at least before we go? He needs to release some of this energy.” Dean barked again, and Sam conceded, if only to shut the two of them up.

 

Sam had seen a fenced in park a couple blocks down from the motel, and with it being a snowy 27 degrees at 5am on a Sunday, it was completely empty when they got there. Dean was well behaved on the ride over, but he nearly flew out the window when he saw their destination. Castiel let him out of the backseat and stood well out of the way as he thundered past him and into the park.

 

Dean loved running as a wolf. He barely felt the frost covered ground beneath his feet as he made a circle around the place as wide as the fence would allow. As he came back around to his starting point, he could see Sam and Castiel standing just inside the fence, breath clouding in the early morning air. He changed direction slightly and ran at them full-tilt.

 

 

Sam yelped beside him and tried to get out of the way, but Castiel knew Dean was playing chicken. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the fur-covered freight train barreling at him. Sure enough, Dean changed direction at the last second. He whirled around and came racing past again, snapping at Sam’s heels.

 

 

Dean stopped a few yards away from them; slapping his forepaws on the ground, tail waving in the air, tongue lolling out of his mouth, inviting his pack to play with him. Sam laughed, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose before taking Dean up on the offer. He ran at Dean, who yipped and took off; only to double back and speed past Sam, play growling as he went. He would flop on the frosty grass and wait longer and longer to run, waiting until Sam could almost catch him before dancing away.

 

He stopped and looked around for his other packmate. Where was Cas? He saw the other man standing with his back to them, looking at the jungle gym set up in the corner. Dean wasn’t paying attention to Sam, however, and his brother took advantage by rolling him into the frozen grass. Dean launched himself at his brother and knocked him down in turn. They wrestled back and forth for a little, and Sam was smiling wider than Dean had seen him smile in years.

 

They disentangled themselves, breathing hard, and Dean turned to look at Cas again. He still had his back turned, and from the slope of his shoulders, he seemed to be falling into one of his moods. Dean would have none of that today. He lowered his head and slunk forward, taking care not to make noise as he ghosted over the ground, picking up speed as he rushed his unsuspecting friend.

 

Sam, the bastard, yelled a warning just as he launched into the air, and Castiel whirled in place, only to catch 185lbs of wolf in the chest. He fell to the grass with a startled yelp, and Dean was on him, rubbing his face into Castiel’s neck and sniffle-snorting in his ear. Cas tried to wrestle him off, but Dean was even stronger as a wolf than he’d been as a human. He didn’t budge.

 

Dean ducked his head and flopped on his side ungracefully onto the former angel, wriggling and kicking and nipping at him until he let out a laugh. Dean stood up then and rubbed the side of his head on Castiel’s again. Cas draped his arms loosely around Dean’s furry neck. They sat like that for less than a minute before Sam started pelting them with snowballs.

 

Sam and Cas chased him around and they wrestled some more, having used up all of the snow that hadn’t melted in the weak winter sun. They were all getting tired, breathing hard and relaxed with laughter. Just as Sam suggested they head out, movement caught Dean’s eye.

 

He didn’t think. He just moved. The rabbit didn’t stand a chance, caught on the wrong side of the fence. He closed his jaws around it before it knew he was there. Its spine snapped, and it was still. He began to eat, happy with an easy kill, warm blood slaking the thirst he’d acquired from all that running, when he remembered his pack. He’d only eaten half of the rabbit. He would bring the rest to them. They were not as fast as him. He would hunt for them if he needed to. They wouldn’t be his first surrogate pups.

 

He loped up to them, laying the left over rabbit between his packmates. They would decide amongst themselves who would eat first.

 

“Thank you Dean. I appreciate your offer, but I am not hungry right now.” Castiel spoke each word slowly, concern in his voice. Sam looked halfway between heartbreak and disgust. Dean let out a whine. He couldn’t remember what he should be ashamed of, but he felt the emotion nonetheless.

 

 

They checked through the witch’s blood-soaked torture room and headed back to the motel with her grimoire and every jar and vial of ingredients used in the spell she cast to transform Dean and the others before giving an anonymous tip to the police.  Dean was unusually quiet and still on the ride back to the room, and it was beginning to make Sam and Castiel nervous.

 

Dean made a beeline for the corner of the room and lay down with his back to the men as they poured over the old leather bound book. The spell was simple enough, inscribed by a demon, requiring few ingredients and little true power, but there was no reversal written in the grimoire. Castiel flipped through the book again as Sam pulled out his laptop. After another hour of nothing, Sam flipped the laptop closed and groaned, dragging his fingers through his hair.

 

“Everything I’ve found says the spell should’ve been reversed when the witch died, if it could be reversed at all.” Sam huffed in exasperation. Castiel shushed him and pointed at Dean, who was snoring softly in the corner.

 

“We gotta figure this out, and soon. It’s getting harder and harder to tell when the switch is being flipped.” Sam fixed his gaze on his brother.

 

“Call Garth and ask if he knows anything. Don’t you normally check the local library at this point?” Castiel asked, trying to be helpful.

 

Sam’s first thought was to snap at Castiel, to say something along the lines of ‘Normally we would call you. If you were still an angel, you’d zap him back and we’d be on our way’ but Sam restrained himself. He knew the same thoughts must have been going through the former angel’s mind.

 

They left quietly, hoping they’d be back before Dean woke up, but Sam figured that since he had the whole room instead of just the bathroom, he’d be ok. Castiel filled up both of the Styrofoam coffee cups that sat next to the tiny coffee maker with water and set them on the floor, hoping they’d be enough if Dean got thirsty.

 

 

Dean woke up to the familiar sound of the Impala’s engine fading fast. He looked around. His pack was gone. They left without him while he slept. A small part of his mind knew they’d be back. Knew they were trying to help him, but he couldn’t remember why. The anxiety flooded back in with a vengeance. He couldn’t remember. Why did they leave without him?

 

The room was too small. They drew the curtains before they left, so he couldn’t see outside. Too small. A cage. He didn’t like being alone. He had to find his pack. They were going to help him. Help with what? Too small… too small… He had to move. Staying still meant dying. Staying still meant someone taking over the territory you fought so hard to protect. He had to get out of there. Find his pack. They had to do something.

 

He grabbed the curtains in his teeth and pulled. The whole mess tumbled to the ground, curtain rod and all. The windows were shut, but he took a running leap anyway.

 

 

 

Sam drove down the main drag, Castiel looking out the passenger window, both silent as the grave. Castiel was grateful Sam didn’t bring up his lack of powers. He knew Dean would not have been so tactful if the roles were reversed. He hoped they’d find some information at the library, or that Garth would find some sort of reversal. Castiel knew of one thing that might work, but he wouldn’t mention it until they had exhausted all other theories, as it was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone but Metatron.

 

He heard the blaring horns before Sam did, and swiveled in his seat to look out the back window. He couldn’t see what was causing all the commotion, but the horns were getting louder and closer. A police siren wailed in the distance. He saw something darting between cars, a flash of cream and gold, and he yelled for Sam to break.

 

Dean ran up alongside the Impala and placed his huge paws on the other side of Castiel’s window. His nose was bleeding, and they could see a myriad of tiny cuts on his face. His chest was matted with blood.

 

“Jesus Christ, Dean!” Sam shouted, storming out of the car. The police had caught up as Castiel opened his door, and apparently animal control was on its way.

 

Castiel found Sam trying to talk to the terrified police officers with Dean pressed up against his leg, bleeding and snarling.

 

“He’s not a full wolf, he’s a hybrid. Half malamute. That’s why he’s so big.”

 

“This is Washington, son. I know a wolf when I see one. You got a license for it?” The officer was trying hard not to let his voice shake. His hand hovered over his pistol. Cas bristled at the officer’s use of ‘it’ rather than ‘he’, but the man had no way of knowing that the barely contained canine in front of him was the man who stopped the apocalypse. The most important person in Castiel’s world.

 

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately it is at the room where we are staying, where he was supposed to be. I am sorry for the trouble, officers.” Castiel lied smoothly, placing a hand on Dean’s head.

 

“Sorry boys, but without that paperwork, and with the condition that it’s in, I’m gonna have to insist that it come with us. You can bring the paperwork to the station and we’ll discharge it to you after its seen a vet.” The animal control van pulled up, and the man driving it looked like he was about to faint.

 

Sam could barely hear himself over the bloodcurdling sounds coming from Dean. “Is this really necessary? We can take him to the vet ourselves, that’s not a problem. It’s just… he might be a danger to anyone that isn’t us.”

 

“I can see that, but it’s bleeding and we’ve got a lot of scared people ‘round here now that they’ve seen it. A couple days ago we had a goddamn hyena attack! Besides, it’s a federal offense to keep a wild animal as a pet without proper documentation. We can sedate it if necessary.”

 

Castiel crouched to look Dean in the eye as Sam sighed in defeat. “Dean, you idiot. Look what you’ve done. Sam and I will get you out of this, on top of everything else, but you _cannot_ attack anyone. Do you hear me? They will destroy you if you do. I’m going to have them muzzle you, just in case you lose yourself, but you must try your utmost. Capisce?” Dean gave him a hard look, but nodded.

 

Sam put the muzzle on Dean himself, gently rubbing the side of Dean’s bloody nose as he tightened the straps. Dean didn’t fight them as they loaded him in to the back of the van, the cages on the sides being too small to hold him. He didn’t whimper or snarl as they shut the doors.

 

 

Sam had to fight back tears as they got back in the Impala. He was so angry his hands shook as he gripped the wheel. Castiel pulled out his cellphone and called Charlie. He put it on speakerphone when she picked up.

 

“Well if it isn’t My Favorite Martian. How’s it hangin’ Cas?” Charlie’s bubbly voice on the other end of the line was a balm to Castiel’s nerves.

 

“Sorry to skip the pleasantries, but can you forge a wild animal permit for a wolf?”

 

“I… don’t see why not. Can I ask why?” Castiel shot a questioning look at Sam. He knew that sometimes they kept people in the dark on certain things. He didn’t want to overstep his bounds by divulging too much information. Sam gave a stiff nod.

 

“Dean underwent an transformation at the hands of a witch and has been detained by the local authorities because we do not possess the proper documentation.”

 

“…He WHAT? Oh shit you guys! I didn’t even know that kind of stuff was real! I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised and all with what I’ve seen but—”

 

“Charlie we need that paperwork ASAP.” Sam explained, cutting her off.

 

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll email it to you within the hour.”

 

“Thank you, Charlie. We appreciate you very much.” Castiel smiled at the phone, though he knew she could not see him. Sam shook his head at the awkward goodbye and got the Impala back on the road.

 

 

Dean was struggling to keep a hold on his humanity. He set up a slideshow of his favorite memories, a loop of Sammy and Cas and Bobby and Ellen and Jo. Charlie and her festival, Garth making him laugh with second-hand embarrassment. Mom making him tomato rice soup and singing him to sleep. He white-knuckled through the transport, and didn’t resist them when they loaded him into a cage to await the veterinarian.

 

He cursed his own impatience for the millionth time. He wouldn’t be here—he wouldn’t even be a wolf in the first place, if he just _waited_ instead of rushing headlong into things, literally this time. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it hurt, badly.

 

The cage was too small to pace. Too small to think straight. He was so tired.

 

He didn’t even feel the wound on his chest until he tried to lay down, and the sudden pain of the glass embedded in the gash cut the last strings of memory he was so desperately holding on to.

 

When the vet arrived, she found a whirlwind of teeth and bloody fur raging against the cage. The thick material holding the wolf’s jaws closed had snapped, and lay uselessly on the ground under the crazed animal. Dean was nowhere to be found.

 

 

True to her word, Charlie had the documents prepared and sent before the hour was out, and after printing them at the library they were off to the police station. They handed over the expertly forged documents and waited the tense minutes while everything was checked over and came up valid. Castiel praised his absent Father for Charlie Bradbury. They were given directions to the animal hospital and drove in silence, tension growing like weeds around them.

 

They heard the shouting and growling from somewhere in the back as soon as they walked in the front door and Castiel was running. They burst through the back, secretary yelling for them to stop, just in time to see the gun pointed at Dean to go off.

 

 

“NO!” Castiel heard Sam shout, loud in the silence after the shot rang out. Castiel had raised an arm as he ran, but nothing happened. He couldn’t flick the gun away with his mind anymore. Couldn’t knit back the hole it left with nothing more than a touch of Grace.

 

He skidded to the ground in front of the cage and was nearly bowled over by Sam. The vet and the man with the gun were talking in loud, panicked voices, but Castiel couldn’t be bothered to listen. White noise filled his ears as he watched the pale fur covering Dean’s chest rise and fall with his breath, getting slower and slower by the second. He lay on his side, facing away from them, and Castiel couldn’t see where the bullet had gone in.

 

He was being shaken, but he wouldn’t look away from Dean. He couldn’t. Of all the myriad possibilities in front of them, all the ways for this to end… Castiel well and truly did not see this coming. He was filled to the brim with unspoken words. A hard slap to his face brought him out of his silent reverie. Sam shook him again, his large, earnest face blocking Castiel’s sight of Dean.

 

“Cas, they darted him. It’s just a sedative. He’s ok. He’s gonna be fine.” It took a minute for the words to have any meaning to Castiel, and when they did, he stood and turned to the man still holding the rifle. He got in three punches before someone tried to pull him off. He turned and swung, but Sam ducked out of the way.

 

Sam had his hands up, palms out, stepping forward slowly like he was approaching a wounded animal. Castiel heard someone laughing hysterically, and it was a long minute before he realized it was him.

 

“Cas. It’s ok, it’s just me. You gotta calm down ok? It would really suck to have to bust you out of jail. Calm down. Dean’s fine. He’s ok. It’s not this guy’s fault. Calm down.”

 

Castiel’s body was shaking uncontrollably with the manic laughter, tears streaming down his face. Logically, he could see that his behavior was ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t even try. These human emotions were so _strong_. In that moment, he understood Dean’s demon deal more than he ever had before. He was no longer immortal, but he couldn't imagine living even the rest of this short human life without Dean.

 

He turned back to Dean’s cage and crumpled to the ground, pulling at the lock. If he were his true self, it would’ve come away in his hand like a toy. “Open this.” He whispered, voice rougher than usual. He swiped the back of his hand over his face, smearing the moisture around. When no one moved to help him, he snarled, “Open this cage right fucking now.” Sam’s eyes widened in shock at his language, and he was reminded that the younger Winchester had never heard him swear before, hadn’t heard him call Raphael his bitch.

 

Someone, whether it was the man with the gun or the veterinarian or someone else all together, opened the padlock with trembling hands. He swatted them away when the lock clicked open. He grabbed Dean’s hind legs and pulled. When the wolf was completely free of the metal bars, Castiel sat next to him, pulling his friend’s head onto his lap. He tugged the dart out of Dean’s side and tossed it away from them, hearing the metallic clink as it hit the concrete and rolled to the wall.

 

The transformed hunter’s eyes rolled in their sockets, unseeing and terrified. Castiel smoothed his hands over the wolf’s fur, picking out shards of glass when he felt them.

 

“Sam, come over here and hold him. I need to clean these wounds.” Castiel laid Dean’s head gently onto the floor and rose.

 

“Sir, you can leave that to me, I am—” The woman’s sentence died in her throat when Castiel paused and turned a withering look her way, daring her to try and stop him.

 

Sam jumped between them, simultaneously placating the vet and creating a barrier between her and Castiel. “It’s ok. He knows what he’s doing. He gets very protective. He… rescued Dean from a bad situation a couple years ago.”

 

Castiel wanted to laugh when the woman gave an unconvinced nod. If she only knew. He opened drawers and cabinets, assembling the required items before moving back to where Sam now cradled Dean’s head. He got to work, diligently and methodically cleaning, sewing and bandaging the cuts. He had to shave some of the longer fur on Dean’s chest to get at the ugliest of the wounds, and when he was done repairing what he could, he tied a small section of the pale fur into a knot and placed it in his pocket, in case they needed it for a counter spell.

 

“How long will the sedation last?” He asked the room, trying to keep his voice even.

 

“Couple hours tops.” The man with the gun, an animal control officer apparently, spoke through his hand, which was cradling his purpling jaw.

 

“Sam, can you lift him?” An emotion Castiel registered as shame flitted through him. He knew he couldn’t carry Dean to the car. He hated the weakness of this body.

 

Sam nodded and lifted his brother, grunting under the strain. The others didn’t move to stop them. Sam drove them to a different motel, as they knew they would not be welcome in the first one, and they didn’t leave behind anything important in the room anyway.

 

During the drive, they talked about the possibility of Dean not being there when the wolf regained consciousness, and after checking all of their available sources and coming up with nothing, Castiel shared the only thing he knew that might change Dean back. Sam’s mouth formed a grim line. He wasn’t giving up just yet, but the thought of putting his brother through something like that put a lump in his throat.

 

They stopped and got food on the way back, though neither Sam nor Castiel was hungry, and made sure to get Dean five burgers this time. No more raw meat. They brought the unconscious hunter in and lay him on one of the beds. Sam posed a prudent question, to which Castiel answered with a nod. They hog-tied Dean as tightly as they dared. After that, it was a waiting game.

 

Sam tried to cut the mounting tension with some television, but it didn’t really work. He left it on anyway. He threw himself into researching any other way to get his brother back, and came up wanting. He then researched the ritual that Cas mentioned. It seems it was kind of like a blanket cleansing. A removal of anything demonically manufactured or tainted. It didn’t expressly say it would work on everything, but it held a horrifying promise. Like the trials, it consisted of three parts. The first two were easy. The last… not so much. The last was always the kicker, wasn’t it?

 

Sam huffed a sigh and leaned back in the chair. For the first time in days, he looked at Castiel. Really looked. The former angel in question sat up against the headboard on the bed they laid Dean on. Sam thought then that he’d never seen Castiel look less like a conduit of Holy Wrath. He looked so small next to the hulking mountain of fur that was his brother, sunken in on himself as he watched the slow rise and fall of the wolf’s chest.

 

He was struck again at the whole damn tragedy of whatever relationship his brother and their angel had. While he would never expect his pigheaded brother to confess his love for Castiel, he had suspected that Castiel had feelings for Dean since day one, and now...

 

It was just that, angels didn’t really _have_ feelings, and here is this quirky, nerdy dude with wings giving up his entire, unfathomably long existence in the blink of an eye. Several times. For his _brother_. Crude, obnoxious, moody, stubborn Dean Winchester. If that wasn’t love, Sam didn’t know what was.

 

He just wished Dean would get over himself already. Sam tried to joke around about it, knowing that Dean would never have a flat out conversation about the situation—god forbid they have a ‘chick flick moment’—to try and let him know that he was completely okay with Dean’s feelings, but his brother just got offended anyway. He didn’t want to push, just in case Dean started to take his illogical fear out on Cas. 

 

He knew how irreparably his brother could mess Cas up if he did something stupid in a big gay panic.

 

A small part of Sam had always been envious of his brother and the profound bond he shared with their best friend. The carefully masked devotion Castiel had for Dean was something that, although strange and sometimes scary, Sam coveted. The only one he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that would do literally _anything_ for him was Dean, and they were family. ‘Keep Sammy Safe’ was something so ingrained into Dean’s head, Sam felt sick with it sometimes. Like he was keeping Dean a prisoner just by being alive. 

 

But caring for Dean was something Castiel _chose_. Possibly the first choice he ever made. And here was this spell getting in the way. Sam could see, in the way this struggling, depressed, hopelessly human Castiel looked at his brother, that the love the former angel had for Dean was something truly profound. He was tracing the fur around the makeshift rope muzzle, around the wolf’s closed eyes, rubbing circles behind the pointed ears; all the while his face betraying the emotions he normally kept so carefully closed off.

 

If only Dean would man up and let the angel know how he felt, they could be something truly amazing together, Sam thought sadly. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, smiling a little at the ‘girly’ feelings he was having. Dean would have a shit fit if he knew what Sam was thinking. He’d welcome the tantrum with open arms if it meant his brother was back.

 

He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes before turning back to the laptop in front of him and waited.

 

 

 

Consciousness hit Dean like an avalanche. He remembered pain and fear and being alone and trapped. He remembered strangers and the deafening bang and the bright stab of pain in his chest and the sensation of slipping and falling and not being able to get up again. He tried to rise and failed. It was then he noticed that his legs were tied. His mouth too. He remembered being calm when his mouth was forced closed the first time, but not now.

 

He struggled and snarled and kicked. He swung his head up to look at his surroundings. Bigger cage than before. Movement behind him caught his eye, and he made the most threatening sound he could produce at the creature that loomed dangerously close to him. He was helpless and at the thing’s mercy, but he would not give up without a fight. He wasn’t allowed to, but he couldn’t remember why.

 

Adrenalin coursed through him. Fight or flight. He struggled harder against his bonds when he saw another of the creatures across the big cage from him rise and come closer. They surrounded him, and he began to panic. They were making soft noises at him. The one behind him, the smaller one, touched his head. He flinched away as far as he could before it could grab him. He had the distinct feeling he shouldn’t be alone in this. There were others with him before. His brother and his… mate? His pack. Where were they? These creatures had forced him into a trap and hurt him and tied him up. Maybe they hurt them too. White-hot rage surged through him. No one hurt his pack and lived.

 

The muzzle snapped like before, underestimating the strength of his jaws. He was used to things underestimating him. He would show them how terrible a mistake they had made. He would tear them apart and paint the cage with their blood. He knew how to draw it out, make them suffer, have them praying for death long before they got it. He was glad his pack wasn’t here. They shouldn’t see the things he was capable of.

 

He whipped his head down to gnaw at the rope holding his legs together. He had to be free quickly, before they had a chance to flee. Even then, they would only die quicker, their rapid heartbeats forcing their blood out faster than he wanted.

 

His head was yanked away before he could chew all the way through his bindings, and suddenly he was being surrounded, covered, crushed. The smaller creature lay on top of him, arms and legs wrapped around his body, squeezing tight even though he was struggling and snapping and straining to get his jaws around any part within reach. No matter how much he twisted, his jaws found no purchase. The thing was too close.

 

The smell of cotton and denim and sweat and fear emanating from his captor filled Dean’s nose, but there was something else, something that lay underneath, rolling off the creature in waves. It smelled like the end of winter; the biting cold wrapped tight around the promise of heat soon to come. Honey on ice. Bitter ocean breeze on sun warmed skin. He knew the smell from somewhere. He knew... No.

 

The thing was pressed so tight that he felt the sounds it made more than he heard them, rumbling out of the creature like thunder. He met the sounds with a roar. The frayed ties on his legs snapped under the strain, but the thing held him tighter, throwing off his balance enough that he still couldn’t get up. The bigger thing loomed above him, a piece of tree held in his hand. They were going to hurt him now. Everything always hurt him. Let them try.

 

 

 

“Cas, move your head, I need a clean shot.”

 

Cas raised his head in alarm. “Sam, No!” But it was a mistake. He had moved too far away from Dean, far enough away for the wolf to snap his jaws shut on Castiel’s shoulder. The bite was so much more powerful than before. No warning, no assertion of dominance, this was a bite to maim, to disable. A few inches over and it would have been one to kill.

 

“Dean!” Castiel shouted as the wolf bit down impossibly harder, feeling the tip of a canine hit his collarbone. “Dean, please. This is not who you are. You are more than this. You are not a monster. You have to remember, Dean. You are human. You have people to protect. _Remember._ Ahh!” Castiel’s collarbone snapped.

 

“Cas, move!” Sam’s panicked voice barely registered in Castiel’s head, ears ringing from the pain and the diesel engine rumble coming from Dean.

 

“I can’t! We don’t have another chance to get him back and it won’t work otherwise.” Castiel fought a sob and the blackening edges of his vision. “Dean, I’m trying to help you. Let me help you. I can save you, Dean. Let me save you.”

 

“Let me save you.”

 

Those simple words were Castiel’s last hope of breaking through. The words he never wanted to have to say out loud to Dean ever again, lest they resurface the memories Castiel gave up part of his Grace to keep hidden. The words he used when he found Dean in Hell, black eyed and bloodthirsty. The words that finally brought him back.

 

“Let me save you.”

 

 

 

Sam was horrified. He tried to get Cas to move just enough so he could get a good swing in and then while Dean was out, they could re-tie the ropes and start again. All he succeeded in doing was getting Cas mauled. Blood was practically pouring down Castiel’s back, the wolf’s jaws clamping down and _pulling_. He heard the snap of bone, and it jolted him into action.

 

He grabbed a pistol and pulled out the clip, checking to make sure the chamber was empty. As he ran back to the bed, planning to use the barrel of the gun to pry Dean’s jaws open, Dean let go. Sam surged forward, grabbing Castiel around the chest and pulling him away. Cas was limp in his arms. A quick look confirmed that he had fainted.

 

Dean whimpered and tried to follow, but stopped when Sam flinched and almost dropped Cas.

 

“Dean just… just stay there for now.”

 

Sam cut off Cas’s dark grey t-shirt to see the extent of the wound and his heart sunk. It definitely wasn’t something he could work with, broken bones notwithstanding. Blood flowed freely from the gouges on both sides of Castiel’s shoulder. Torn muscle fibers hung in the gore, a large flap of Cas’s skin pulled up and off, and the pale glint of bone was enough to send Sam into a rage.

 

He was stuck, and he knew it. He couldn’t damn well let Castiel bleed out in the fucking motel room, but Cas had been certain that if Dean lost his marbles one more time then there would be no way to get them back again. He was paralyzed with indecision, and Cas was still bleeding.

 

The only solution he came up with made him feel like the biggest asshole in the world, but it was the best chance he had of saving them both, so he steeled himself, grabbed the motel phone, and dialed 911.

 

He grabbed their stuff as soon as he hung up, giving the quickest of directions to the location, and urged Dean out the door.

 

 

 

Dean didn’t understand why they were leaving an unconscious Cas bleeding on the floor of a grimy motel room, and Sam had to physically force him out the door.

 

“Dean, now! We don’t have time. We have to change you back before…” He didn’t finish, but Dean caught the drift. He jumped into the Impala on shaky legs when Sam opened the door. He bit Cas. Again. He had to be human. He had to apologize. He had to make it right. Cas had trusted him not to lose control again and now he was possibly bleeding to death and Cas never should have pulled him out of Hell because he’s poison to everyone around him, nothing but a burden and…

 

“Dean!”

 

The high pitched keening howl that forced its way out of Dean’s throat was cut short. He shook with fear and self-loathing in the passenger seat. Sam was driving now, but his body was half turned to Dean, and his eyes flitted back and forth from the road to the wolf next to him. Sam was truly afraid of him.

 

“Dean, Cas remembered something that might turn you back.” Dean could feel his ears perk up. He studied Sam’s face. “We have everything we need to do it.” Sam’s face was dark, and it wasn’t just with fear of Dean. There had to be a catch. “It’s a long shot at best. And at worst…” here it comes, “it could kill you.” Of course.

 

He could see the emotions warring on his little brother’s face. He knew that this was the only solution they had come up with, that it might not even work, that it might even kill him, but this was the end of the line as Dean if he didn’t agree to whatever it was.

 

He wondered what they’d do if he refused. Would they let him loose in some forest somewhere? Sam would probably try and get him into a wild animal rescue place so he could come and visit as his brother lived out the rest of his days as a mindless beast. Would Cas come too? Would they mourn him once the switch was permanently flipped and he forgot who they were?

 

In the end, he never really had to think about it. He’d do whatever it took to make sure he didn’t leave Sam and Cas alone in this world.

 

 

 

Sam felt at once relieved and terrified when he saw Dean give a deliberate nod. He had searched for a location that they could use for the ritual while Dean was unconscious, and he headed there now, hoping that while they were headed to save Dean, someone was rushing to Castiel’s aid.

 

They arrived at an abandoned mechanic shop on the outskirts of the city just as night was falling. The temperature was dropping like a rock. White clouds drifted from their mouths as man and wolf entered the building and Sam shut the door firmly behind him. He set the demon knife, holy water and holy oil out on a rusted out old clunker and turned to Dean.

 

“I know you already agreed. But I have to tell you how it’s gonna work before we do this.” When Dean didn’t move, he continued. “It’s a triad cleansing. The spell that changed you was demonic, and this is meant to strip away demonic influence.” Dean nodded, as if to say ‘spit it out already.’

 

“The first one is easy. I just need a little blood to draw a symbol on your forehead. Next is a sprinkling of holy water and some Latin. The third…”

 

_Out with it already, Sam!_

 

“Dean. It says you have to be bathed in holy oil and ‘cleansed by fire.’”

 

 

Dean stared unmoving at his brother. He figured when he heard what child’s play the first two cleansings were that Sam was overreacting as usual.

 

He thought he just heard Sam say that to get him back he had to willingly deep-fry himself alive.

 

How do they know this is gonna work?

 

How the hell _would_ that even work?

 

How would he survive?

 

How long would he have to _burn_?

 

He could feel himself slipping. Maybe that was the point of these fucking three-part trials, to kill whoever attempted them. Sam would’ve died. From what he heard from Cas, he would've died too if Meta-dick didn’t want his life story. Now it was his turn, and he wasn’t even doing it for something important. No closing up Heaven or Hell, just trying to save his own sorry ass. What a fucking joke.

 

He sighed. Whatever happened next, he wanted Sam to know he loved him and he only wished he could get a message to Cas as well. He was so damn stupid to not just fess up. So scared of changing what they had into something more in case it all went south, waiting for the right moment when they weren’t fighting for their lives. Now he might never get the chance to tell him. _I’m so sorry Cas._

 

Too late. It was time to get on with it, before the wolf took over again.

 

He trotted up to Sam and leaned against his leg. Sam knelt and hugged him around his neck. The stitches in his chest pulled, but he held his grip. This might be goodbye. He pulled away and grabbed the demon knife, pressing it into Sam’s hand.

 

Sam nodded solemnly. He drew the blade along Dean’s leg and flinched back, waiting for the wolf to return, but it didn’t come. He finger-painted the symbol onto the cream-colored fur and Dean started to feel a pressure in his skull. It felt like just before he got a headache, where there is no pain, but he could tell it was coming.

 

The holy water actually hurt. Not the hiss-and-sizzle of holy water on a demon, but enough to send a bolt of fear down his spine. He wrestled with the wolf inside, fighting like hell to come out. He could do this. He had to.

 

The words coming out of Sam’s mouth scraped against his ears, digging claws through his brain. He wished Sam had tied him, chained him, anything. It was torture enough having to fight every instinct that told him to let his mind go. When he was fighting or being tortured or in pain, his first reflex was to retreat into himself, let his body take the pain while his mind rested, but he knew if he did that, it’d be all over. He had to sit there and take it. No bonds to fight against, nothing to restrain him but his own shoddy self-control.

 

Sam finished and reached for the holy oil, mouth set in a grim line. He lifted the pitcher, and faltered. Dean saw the pain in his face and smelled the fear rolling off him in waves. He jumped up and caught the pitcher in his jaws, biting down. The clay broke easily, and the oil cascaded down his fur. He rolled in it quickly, the smell so strong it almost made him gag. He blinked it out of his eyes and looked expectantly at his little brother.

 

_Now or never, Sammy_.

 

He was so proud of Sam when he pulled out the lighter and flicked. He didn’t know if he could’ve done it, had the roles been reversed. Sam was so much stronger than he’d ever be, and his little brother would survive whatever happened next. It was that thought he carried with him as he caught flame.

 

 

Burning hair, burning flesh, _pain_. Twisting, crunching, boiling, melting, popping, screaming…    

 

Silence…        

 

 

 

Darkness…

 

 

 

 

 

His ears were ringing. Everything _hurt_. He was sticky-slick with plasma and chunks of flesh, like he’d been dragged through a slaughterhouse by his feet. The stench of blood was unmistakable, as was the cloying smell of burnt hair. He tried to move, and realized there was something covering him. Panicking, he jerked and kicked until the sheet... tarp?.. came off and he was rewarded with the sight of his Sasquatch of a little brother crying like a baby a few feet away.

 

“Son of a bitch. That sucked.”

 

“Dean!”

 

“Heya, Sammy.” Sam was crushing him into a hug before he could blink, completely disregarding the gore that covered him.

 

“Don’t ever, _ever_ do that to me again. Dick.” Sam choked into his shoulder. It wasn’t a promise Dean could keep, but he agreed all the same.

 

 

 

 

Castiel woke up slowly, drifting awake just to fall back asleep again. It wasn’t till he felt someone grab his hand and squeeze that he actually opened his eyes.

 

Dean’s face loomed above him, and it was a long minute before Castiel reacted, not sure if he was dreaming or not.

 

“Hey Cas. You with us?” Dean quirked a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and Cas knew he was really awake.

 

Before he could overthink it, he tried to throw his arms around Dean’s neck and pull him down, only to yelp when his shoulder screamed in pain. He was heavily bandaged, one of his arms in a sling. He hadn’t even noticed.

 

“Jesus, Cas. Good to know you're happy to see me but you don’t have to rip your stitches to prove it.”

 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m just…” Castiel struggled with the words. He no longer cared if Dean reacted negatively. Almost losing him burned away the last vestiges of trepidation Castiel had about telling Dean how he felt, but the words still lodged in his throat.

 

“Hey, hey. Cas. It’s ok.” Dean reached out to cup Cas’s face in both of his hands. Cas froze, eyes going wide. Dean was about to pull back, thinking he misread the situation. Maybe Cas hadn’t forgiven him for landing him in the hospital, or maybe he was afraid of him now.

 

Dean started to move away and Cas surged forward, mashing his lips to Dean’s before pulling back and lifting his good hand to his mouth.

 

“Ouch.”

 

Dean sat there, stunned for a moment, feeling his bottom lip start to swell from Cas’s semi-violent kiss.

 

Holy shit. Cas _kissed_ him.

 

He was pulled from his stupor by Cas sighing.

 

“That did not go how I wanted it to.”

 

Dean surprised himself by asking, “Wanna try it again?”

 

From the looks of it, he surprised Castiel too. The former angel just stared at him for a minute, head tilted, before lifting his uninjured arm to slide his fingers through the short hair on the back of Dean’s head.

 

Dean went willingly when Castiel pulled him forward, bracing himself with his arms to keep most of his bodyweight off of the former angel.

 

They paused, breathing the same air, eyes locked. Dean absently wondered why it seemed their relationship only progressed after one of them had a brush with death.

 

_Fuck that_.

 

“Dean.” Cas breathed, the vowels and consonants ghosting through Cas’s lips and brushing Dean’s, like the Caterpillar’s smoke in Alice in Wonderland. His eyes fluttered shut, trusting Cas to do whatever he wanted.

 

He felt himself being pulled closer. He took a deep breath through his nose, waiting for the brush of Cas’s mouth again.

 

Cas pressed a kiss to his forehead, to each of his eyelids, the bridge of his nose and the very corners of his mouth before capturing his lips again. It was sweet and chaste and short, just a hint of skin on skin but it ripped something inside Dean to shreds.

 

He tried so hard, for so long not to feel this way about Cas. For what? How much time did he waste fighting this?

 

“We’re a couple of dumbasses aren’t we?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel was about to answer, defending them both, when Sam walked in with the doctor.

 

“Oh, um, hey guys. Do you uh, need a minute?” Sam scratched the back of his neck, trying not to smile.

 

Dean stood up, blushing, but didn’t move away from Cas’s side. He listened to the doctor describe the care that Cas would need in the coming weeks and couldn’t suppress a grin when he felt Cas grab his hand. Sam’s whispered ‘finally’ only made him grin wider. This was ok. They were ok.

 

 

 

Later, when they got back to the bunker, he would take every ‘Lon Chaney Jr.’ and ‘Ginger Snaps’ joke Sam, Charlie and Kevin could throw at him with a smile.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Still so sorry for the wait between fics. Thanks for being so patient with me!


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